


The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative telling for Burke's Seven: Mozzie and Diana have forged an unlikely friendship. When he is rightfully freaked out about his safety after being shot, she takes him home to her place. However, she doesn't know he's in love with her. This is a remix of two works by elrhiarhodan,  “Beautiful Monster” and “Just a Little Risk Averse These Days."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Beautiful Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2896) by elrhiarhodan. 



_“If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it doesn't. Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism.” (Oscar Wilde)_

\----

She was named for the Roman goddess of the hunt, and was to be revered, loved, feared. In his head he called her his Siren, his Echidna, his beautiful monster, and she simultaneously attracted and repelled him. Not just because she very likely knew of at least half a dozen ways to kill him with her bare hands, but because of the feelings she engendered within him. Feelings of longing and lust and adulation so acute they bordered on worship, and it disturbed him sometimes.

No one was allowed to do that to him. Not even Neal.

It was thoughts of Diana that distracted Mozzie on that fateful afternoon when an assassin’s bullet nearly claimed him. Surely, he’d have noticed Julian Larssen’s approach if he hadn’t been daydreaming about her mouth, her eyes, her cheekbones. Surely he’d have thought to leave his notes safely at home had he not been working up a reason to talk to her.

Before he lost consciousness, his last thought was not for himself, but disappointment that he might not see her again.

\----

Neal stared out the window of Moz’s hospital room, gnawing a thumbnail moodily. He glanced over at his friend, lying in a drug-induced coma to aid in his healing. He looked so frail and small, it was almost as if he wasn’t _there_.

“How’s he doing?” a quiet voice said behind him. Neal turned to find Diana standing in the doorway, grasping a horrid-looking flower arrangement she’d clearly just bought in the gift shop; the side of the oversized coffee mug it was set in read, _It’s a Boy_!

“No change,” Neal answered.

“Well, that’s got to be good, right? No news being good news?” Her eyes were unusually wide and he noticed she seemed uncharacteristically nervous. He reached out for the flowers lest she snap the handle off the mug, she was gripping it so tightly. She seemed reluctant to let them go, like she needed something to do with her hands. She began running her right one up and down the leather strap of her handbag.

“I hope you’re right,” Neal answered.

She took a tentative step forward, peering at Mozzie. “He looks so small,” she said, her eyebrows knitting together.

Neal nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She took another step, staring into Moz’s face. “Do you suppose he’s warm enough?”

“I think so.”

“They’re taking good care of him?” she asked, finally looking at Neal directly. He thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“The best.”

“Well, um, I should go,” she said, gesturing behind herself with a thumb, “back to the office.”

“OK.”

“OK.” She turned and left.

Neal stood there, watching the space she’d occupied for several minutes after she’d gone, wondering what that had all been about. He knew she and Moz had forged a grudging respect for each other over the last couple of weeks’ investigation into the music box, but he had clearly underestimated the depth of their attachment.

\----

When Mozzie wakes, he is lying in a clearing in the woods. It is nighttime and the woods are lit by a gibbous moon high overhead. The sound of a stream bubbling nearby makes him realize he is thirsty. He rises and is drawn to the water source by its scent. He bends down to drink, catches his reflection in the clear water, ears pricked forward, muzzle dark and smooth; he cocks his head to the side and blinks – the sight of his reflection is always a fascination.

As he drinks, he is suddenly aware of a humming sound, low, reverberant in the small clearing. At the same time, there is a lightening in the distance. It grows, becomes brighter – his lady is coming.

Turning, he bounds across the clearing; she will want him near. He slides to a stop at the spot where the light emanates. The humming gets louder, increases in pitch, becomes more like a vibration. She is coming, he feels it. He cowers to the ground, whining, his belly in the dirt, and then she is there.

She is tall, her face at once beautiful, wild and terrible. She is dressed for the hunt, bow and quiver slung over her shoulders. Her eyes flash as she takes in her surroundings. He licks her ankle, and when she looks down on him, her smile warms him to his core. To be under her gaze is all he lives for. He thinks his heart may explode from the joy of being in her presence. She extends her hand and he nuzzles against her palm.

“Ah, my loyal cur, I think you are ready for the hunt, are you not?” she asks. Mozzie whines and barks, his excitement building. She is come, his goddess, his Diana. She is his everything.

\----

Neal dozed in the chair beside Mozzie’s hospital bed, his copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology lying open in his lap. He’d heard that reading to him might stimulate Moz’s brain while he was in his coma.

Though he was largely asleep, he could hear Diana in the hallway, hectoring the staff about Mozzie’s care yet again. She has been like a pit bull over the last several days, working together with Peter and Neal to find Larssen and bring him to justice, while at the same time spelling Neal in the vigil he kept at the hospital, telling him to go home when he was too wrecked to keep his head up, and staying with Moz in his absence – sometimes through the night.  Often, she’d get up and head straight to the office once he’d arrived for the morning shift, showing no sign of tiring or strain.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Neal had said at the beginning, “why are you doing this?”

“He’s my friend,” she said simply.

“Yeah, well, _I’m_ your friend; would you be here if that were me in that bed?”

“Don’t overestimate your worth to me Caffrey,” she said, but he was persistent and she finally explained it to him. “I had a brother named Marcus, and we were really close as kids. He was older than me, but he had a heart defect, so he was smaller than most kids his age. I was the one who took care of him, watched over him when the other kids teased him. Moz reminds me of him a lot. He pisses me off and makes me laugh – usually within the same conversation. Yeah, he’s just like Marcus.”

  

  1. “What happened to him? To Marcus?”
  



Diana’s smile faded but did not leave her face. “He died when he was 23. I’ve really missed him.” She was straightening out the blanket covering Mozzie’s arms when she said it, pleating the top of it down and tucking it into the mattress. Neal understood her completely.

Neal startled at a sharp intake of breath from Moz. He was coming out of it, finally, after over a week in the ICU. Neal sat forward in the chair, the book falling to the floor. “Moz?”

Moz’s face twitched and his eyebrows raised and he made a slight, whining moan in his throat. “Diana!” Neal called to her, waving her into the room.

They both stood now beside the bed, watching, waiting for another sign that Moz was coming out of it. Without realizing it, Diana had grabbed onto Neal’s sleeve urgently as they stood there. Moz made that sound again, raised his arms and struggled against the nasal cannula that was wrapped around his head. “Don’t fight it,” Neal said gently, pulling his hands down. He opened his eyes and looked at them both.

The expression on Moz’s face was not one of pain or confusion, as Neal would have expected, but of wonder and surprise. “Oh, my lady,” Neal thought he said, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Moz? You OK?”

“Neal.”

“Hey, buddy.”

“I’m not dead?”

“No,” Diana said, a relieved smile on her face.

Moz looked at her, and in the split second it took for him to school his expression into something neutral, Neal would have sworn he saw a bit of fear cross his friend’s face, followed by a flash of surprise and utter joy.

“Lady Suit,” he greeted her, in spite of it.

She reached out her hand to touch his, thought better of it and pulled it back. Moz’s eyes tracked the movement. “Moz,” was all she said in reply.

“What’d I miss?” Moz asked.

 ----

Mozzie struggles to rise, but the injury the hart has dealt him is too severe and he knows it is mortal. He lies on his side, trembling, watching as his lady dispatches the beast with her knife. Soon she is by his side. She places a hand atop his head and he is calm, all pain is gone.

“Ah, my faithful one, you have served me well.”  He licks her hand and whistles through his nose. She stays with him until the end.

\----

Moz started awake with a snort. The pain killers made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open. They also made for some trippy dreams. “What was I just saying?” he said to Neal. Only Neal wasn’t there; it was Diana.

“Oh, I thought I was just talking to Neal. “

“He left an hour ago,” she told him. She took his glasses from the side table and placed them on his face. He blinked and she smiled down at him. It was the second day since Moz had awakened, and she was still spelling Neal.

“Oh. Time for your shift?” He found it odd that she continued to visit him.

“Something like that. How are you feeling today?”

“A little better. Any progress on catching this Larssen guy?”

“None since yesterday. Remember anything more about the shooting?”

He shook his head. “I wish I could, it might make it easier for you.”

She smiled confidently. “Don’t concern yourself about it, we’ll make our case.”

“But what if he comes here?” He had been worried about this since he’d come out of his coma, and finally couldn’t help himself voicing his fear.

“He won’t.” She reached her hand out impulsively, grasped one of his. “Please don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

“There are armies of strapping young agents guarding the doors to the hospital?”

“If by ‘armies’ you mean me and Neal, then yes. We won’t let anything happen, I promise.”

He nodded, his eyelids heavy again. “Why?”

“That’s a strange question.”

“Why do you?” He blinked, fighting the sleep that suddenly had him in its grip again.

“Because I want to.”

“But why?” he insisted.

“Because I care,” she said, but he was already asleep.

\----

Moz flinched away from Diana’s grasp. “What’re you doing?” she asked, exasperated. “I have to help you into the chair!” Diana had insisted on taking him out of his room for a change of scenery. “To blow the stink off you,” were her exact words to him.

He held up a hand. “I can handle it.”

“You’re gonna fall over. Let me do it!” she grabbed him by his biceps and he flinched away from her, the backs of his knees hitting the wheelchair. Tripped up, he landed in the thing hard, with a slight _oof_ as he exhaled, and held his hands up as if to defend himself. “See?” she said, annoyed at his stubbornness.

“Ow, ow!” he said, rubbing at his arm. “You’ve got a grip like a bear trap!”

“Well, I have strong hands.”

“Yeah, no kidding? Remind me to give you a call when I need to open a jar of pickles. Or crack walnuts.”

“Oh, stop being so crabby,” she said, arranging a blanket over his legs and kicking the brake off of the chair. “You’re getting out of here tomorrow.”

“Only to head straight into another institution,” he grumbled.

“Kellerman Rehabilitation Center is the best in the city,” she pointed out. It was now two weeks since Moz had regained consciousness, and she’d spent the last four days trying to get him a bed there and had finally succeeded that morning.

In addition to providing top-notch care, Kellerman was also the spot where celebrities and politicians’ wives waited out their recuperation from plastic surgery, so they were known for their security and discretion. Diana had evaluated the facility personally and, aside from putting Mozzie into protective custody – an option she didn’t think he’d go for – she thought it would be the best option to keep him safe. He’d been increasingly paranoid over the last several days – even for Mozzie – and she hoped the facility would put his mind at ease. 

He sighed but didn’t respond. She began to push him forward, down the hall and towards the atrium, with its bright sunlight and airy spaces. She parked him under a fichus and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going for a coffee – you want anything?”

He shook his head and watched her walk over to the coffee cart at the far end. When he was certain she wouldn’t turn around, he put his hand over the spot where she’d touched his shoulder and rubbed at it, imagining he could still feel her touch there. He sighed, leaned back into the chair and just watched her.

She was so beautiful to him, so, so beautiful it made him want to cry. He did not know what had happened to bring her into his life like this, to suddenly make her so _present_ , but he felt simultaneously grateful and rueful.

It wasn’t that long ago that she represented all that he thought was evil in the world – the Lady Suit, part of the system, the (wo)Man. Then he found himself thrown together with her in the quest to solve the mysteries of the music box, and he’d gotten a glimpse of her true nature. At first, he was surprised (that she had a mind of her own that had not been corrupted by the power structure she was charged with upholding); then intrigued (because hers was a quick and agile wit, and she could keep up with his tangents and flights of fancy); and finally, enchanted (because she gave back as good as she got from him, and frankly, got his jokes as few people did). Beneath it all was an undercurrent of danger (she was always heavily armed, after all) that he knew was mostly in his imagination, but which thrilled him nonetheless.

But he could never have her. And he found himself perversely reveling in that fact – it was like a bruise he just had to press on, or a horrible car wreck he just had to see; there was a masochistic streak in him that loved the misery he was putting himself through. If Neal knew, he’d laugh. Then he’d smack him. Then he’d laugh again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said a voice behind him. He looked up and saw Neal standing there with a smile on his face, a care package of homemade sticky buns from Elizabeth in his hands.

“I don’t think they’re worth that much,” Moz muttered.

“Oh come on, the going rate for thoughts has got to be at least five cents these days.”

“Not these. What’s up?”

“Heard from Hale. He been to see you?”

“You know he has.” Their old friend had been in to visit Moz, said he had a four-man job Moz would be perfect for, that he needed help with the planning of it now, and that the execution of it could wait until Moz was 100%. Moz wasn’t sure if Hale legitimately needed his expertise or if he was throwing him a bone, but regardless of his motivations, Moz had turned him down.

“Sounded like a good gig,” Neal commented.

“Yeah…no, I think I’m out.”

“What are you talking about?” Neal looked concerned.

“The Life, Neal. I’m out. I’m benching myself. Retired.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. This whole thing has really made me think, Neal, about the choices I’ve made, and about the future I’ve got to make for myself. And it’s not just because I feel like a shit for betraying you to the Suit –”

“You know I don’t think you betrayed me,” Neal interrupted.

Moz shook his hand dismissively; there was a part of him that would never forgive himself for that transgression, even if it’d ultimately been the right thing to do. “Whatever. That’s not my point. My point is that a bullet in the chest really changes your perspective. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m feeling just a little risk averse these days.”

“Risk averse?” Diana said, walking up to the two of them. She had brought an orange juice for Moz, and handed it to him with a bendy straw. “Something going on?”

Neal rocked back on his heels. “Moz here says he’s retiring.”

“Oh. Well, that’s got to be good, though, right?” she said. She admittedly knew very little about Moz’s history – and she really didn’t want to – but as a law enforcement officer she could guess about the risks he must face on a regular basis. Look at what had happened to him when he’d pursued a legitimate investigation on behalf of the Bureau – they’d been unable to protect him from Larssen.

“Yes. Yes, it is good,” Moz agreed, pushing his straw through the opening in the cup’s lid. He fiddled with the bent part, twisting it back and forth thoughtfully.

Neal looked dubious but dropped the subject.

Later, as she was wheeling him back to his room, Diana asked him, “Did you really mean what you said back there, Moz? About retiring?”

“I did,” he answered, and he sounded as sure of it as he was that the Mob was behind the Kennedy assassination.

“What will you do?”

“I have other irons in the fire,” he answered cryptically. He never liked to reveal too much about himself – even to her. Especially to her.

“Would you consider working for the FBI? We could probably use a man with your talents.”

“The prospect repels me like no other,” he replied. “What makes you ask such a thing?” They’d arrived at his room and she’d parked him under the floor lamp in the corner, taken a seat across from him.

“You’ve been pretty helpful these last few cases; I just thought –“

“That I’d been tamed? I’m not Neal.”

She gave him a look. “No, that maybe you enjoyed it, that you might’ve found it rewarding. I thought that…maybe…you liked working with me.”

He looked at her for a long minute. She was serious, but there was no way she could have known exactly what her words did to him, how they made his heart thrill just a little bit to think – to fool himself into believing – that she cared for him. He took off his glasses and made a show of wiping them on his robe so he wouldn’t have to see her clearly. “You know I’m only doing it for Neal.”

“What about Gina?”

“A damsel in distress.”

“Aren’t I a damsel?”

When he put his glasses back on, there was a smile playing around her lips.

“Hardly. You’d teach all the damsels how to field strip an M16.”

“Well, what are they doing just sitting around waiting for their Prince Charming for anyhow?”

“When they could have a Princess Charming like you, instead?”

“Exactly. “

“I wish I knew.”

\----

 Moz was transferred to the rehab center the following day. Diana met him after his physical therapy. It was late in the day and he was sweaty, exhausted and feeling cranky. He could not believe the degree of weakness he felt at his complete failure to do something as simple as walking. He had felt on the verge of tears more than once during the session. His therapist had been encouraging and chipper and he wanted to kill her.

Diana was leaning against the wall outside his room, which, unlike the one he had at the hospital, was semi-private.

“Tell me you’re here to take me home.”

“I am not.”

“Then what good are you?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Whoa, what’s got into you, Mr. Cranky Pants?”

“Don’t patronize me. Why are you here?”

Diana was unsuccessful in trying to hide her hurt feelings. “I thought I’d come and visit is all. If you don’t want me here, I’ll just go home.” She turned and stalked down the hallway, her heels clicking on the tile floor.

“Diana,” he called after her

She stopped, but did not turn. “Yes?”

“Don’t go.”

She turned around. He maneuvered his wheelchair forward to close the space between them. “It’s been a really long day, and a frustrating one, and it’s hard. To feel this weak, it’s scary.”

“The doctor said you’d make a full recovery, Moz, you just have to hang in there. This is only day one.”

“I’ve never felt so much like giving up before,” he said quietly, a startling admission for him to be making, least of all to her, and one he hoped he wouldn’t regret.

Diana nodded. “I think this is a lot more than not having a good PT session.”  She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll catch this guy,” she told him, looking him in the eyes, her gaze unwavering.

Moz wanted to look away but found he couldn’t. “I wish I could be confident in that, Diana. I know you’re all working very hard at it, but who exactly _are_ these people? They know too much, and we know too little. How did they find out about me? How are they always one step ahead?”

“I don’t blame you for being scared –“

“You’d be surprised how much scares me lately; I don’t like it,” he interrupted, then shut his mouth. He was being too open with her, but again, he couldn’t help it.

“We’ll catch this guy,” she repeated. “Look, I didn’t want to burden you with all of what’s going on, but Peter and Neal are working on flushing Larssen out. We’re burning his identities one by one so he has to try to buy another one, one we’re setting up. It’s slow, but we’re making progress.  Besides, Larssen got what he wanted off of you.”

Moz flinched to remember his lost notebook.

Diana continued, “So do you think you can hang in there a while longer? Nothing’s going to happen to you here. You’re on a restricted floor, and there’s a very short list of people allowed to see you. I made sure of that. I vetted all the staff assigned to you – full background checks. And Neal and I are only a phone call away. You’re safe here.”

“I wish I could believe you, but a man like me doesn’t trust easily.”

She nodded. “We all of us have trust issues, Mozzie, just some of us bought the entire boxed set.”

He smiled. “You make light of my paranoia.”

“As the sun rises in the East, my friend, it is a constant.”

He outright laughed. “So I’m your friend now?” His face held mirth but his tone was serious as he peered up at her.

“I am. Are you mine?”

He let that lie for a beat, considering his answer, but she took the pause for another joke. “Oh! Leave me hanging!” she laughed. “Fine, fine, then I won’t give you the present I brought for you.”

Mozzie brightened. “Present?” He rubbed his hands together like a kid.

She walked back to his room and reached for the Barney’s shopping bag that lay just inside the door. She presented it to him and he opened it eagerly, finding two pairs of silk pajamas inside. “Oh, these are great!” he enthused. “And they’re just my size: short and squat.”

\----

Two days later, Neal was sitting with Moz in his room, enjoying a sushi lunch Neal had brought. Moz reached over towards Neal’s tray with his chopsticks and Neal swatted his hand away. “Stop it!”

“I need the rest of your wasabi.”

“Well, you can’t have it. You already took all my pickled ginger.”

“But look at me – I’m wasting away eating this hospital food!”

“Fine,” Neal said, holding his tray so it was within reach. “Though I don’t think there are that many calories in wasabi, Moz.”

They sat together as Moz incorporated the wasabi into his remaining soy sauce.

“We’re getting closer to nabbing Larssen,” Neal said, keeping his eyes on his food as he said it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I bumped into him last night.”

Moz dropped his chopsticks. “What do you mean you ‘bumped into him?’” he asked, a panicked edge to his voice.

“Diana told you, we’ve been burning his identities one by one. He’s stuck in this country and the heat is on. He approached me last night, offered to give up his boss.”

“What did you say?”

Neal gave him a look. “What do you think I said? I told him no way.”

“Jesus, Neal,” Moz said, raising a shaking hand to wipe his brow.

“Hey, Moz, hey,” Neal said soothingly, putting his lunch down and squeezing his friend’s arm reassuringly. “It’s OK.”

“No, it’s not, Neal. Larssen’s a killer, an assassin. There’s no telling what he’ll do now that his back’s against the wall. I wish you would just forget about it, leave it alone.”

Neal sat back in his chair. “Can’t do that Moz.”

Moz was truly agitated now. “Neal, you have to stop. Promise me you’ll stop.”

“I can’t Moz. He almost killed you.”

“That alone should be reason enough.”

“You know me better than that. What’s gotten into you lately?”

“A 9 mm slug. This isn’t worth it.”

“I think it is, Moz. And you do too. You’re just not thinking clearly.”

“Oh, I think it’s been a long time since my head has been this clear. You need to know when to let it go, Neal.”

 Neal stood, hurt mixing with disappointment and a touch of anger in his eyes. “This is my fight.”

“After all this time, that’s how you see it?” Moz admonished him and Neal hung his head. “Be that as it may, _I’m_ out.”

Neal nodded, sighed, and left without another word.

Moz punched the edge of his chair with the heel of his hand. Neal had always been impetuous, but there had also been a pragmatic streak that saw him through even his most outrageous schemes. Moz wondered what had happened to it of late. Whoever the people behind all of this were, they had enough juice to bring government agencies to bear to further their agenda. This fact scared Moz above all else – his worst paranoiac dreams coming true. And he slowly realized that if they could infiltrate the FBI, they could put a man inside some dinky little rehab clinic in Manhattan to finish the job they’d started with him. Feeling suddenly exposed, Moz decided he needed to get out of there.

\----

“I brought you some of those little Greek cookies you like…” Diana said as she entered Moz’s room several hours later. She stopped in her tracks at the scene she found. A duffel bag was sitting on the bed with half of Moz’s clothes and other personal belongings strewn around it. Moz sat in his chair, face pale, staring at it all. “What’s going on?”

“I need to leave.”

“I see that. Why?”

“It’s not safe here.”

“We’ve been over this before, Moz.”

“Your assurances are no longer enough. As soon as I’m packed, I’m out of here.”

She nodded. “And how’s that going for you?”

“A little slowly. I keep running out of breath.”

“Which is what the physical therapy is for.” She looked at him and could sense his determination to go. “You think it’s safer out there?”

“At least I’d be in control.”

“You can barely fold your socks. Where will you go?”

He sniffed indignantly. “I have many options.”

“Uh-huh. Are any of those places wheelchair-accessible?”

Moz looked away.

“Let me take you to June’s. At least she has staff.”

Moz shook his head. “I can’t go there.”

Something in his manner made her drop it. Something had clearly happened to upset him, but she wasn’t going to press him on it now. “OK, fine. Then why don’t you come to my place?”

He looked at her sharply. “What about Kelly?”

“Christie. She’ll be fine. Besides, she’s always bringing home strays, I’d say it was my turn.”

\----

“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” Christie said warmly, shaking his hand and welcoming him into their home. She took his bag from Diana and walked it into the guest room. “Can I get you anything to drink? How about a Pellegrino?” She moved to the kitchen and poured the three of them a sparkling water without waiting for an answer.

Moz watched her, transfixed. She was stunning; tall, with olive skin and angular cheek bones, she had an open face that transformed itself into something else entirely when she smiled. She was also very touchy and demonstrative, with a quick wit and ready laugh, which seemed to bring out similar traits in Diana. Moz noticed she was more relaxed in Christie’s presence, at ease, as if she left her tough FBI agent persona at the door. It was a fascinating transformation, Moz realized, and as he watched them prepare dinner and move around their space, talking and laughing, he thought they might just make up the perfect couple.

After dinner, Diana went into the kitchen to make them all espressos – decaf for Moz. She bashed the machine around with her typical impatience, cursing under her breath when she couldn’t get the basket to latch in properly after three attempts.

Christie sipped her wine. “She loves gadgets,” she remarked.

“It seems she loves to break them,” Moz pointed out.

Christie giggled. “True.” She took another sip of her wine and pointed at him. “You’re in love with her,” she said quietly.

Moz didn’t know whether to cop or deny. Had his feelings been so plain on his face?

“Don’t worry – your secret’s safe with me. Di says I have a sixth sense when it comes to these things. I’ve just always been able to read people.”

“Great,” Moz remarked unenthusiastically.

She giggled again. “You’re not the first. She’s surprisingly lovable, despite her rough edges. Possibly the most attractive thing about her is that she is so clueless about it.”

“I should go, maybe.”

“What? I had a whole threesome planned.”

Moz spluttered.

“Kidding! Please stay. It’s only as awkward and uncomfortable as we decide to make it. And I’m not going to say another thing about it.”

“God DAMN it!” Diana exclaimed in the kitchen.

“I’d better go and rescue the coffee machine. Be right back.”

Moz watched her go, and was again struck by how much he liked her, and by how much he liked the two of them together. They meshed so perfectly well, and he finally realized how pointless having feelings for Diana really was, even if he couldn't turn them off. But he knew he’d get over it, as surely as he’d get over his injuries, with just a little aching sensation every time it rained.

\----

 The next morning, Diana was pouring her second cup of coffee when she felt a tug on her shoulder.

“Where’s Mozzie?” Neal asked. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his voice had a panicked edge to it. “The nurse said he checked out last night. I can’t find him. Have you heard from him?”

“Relax. He’s at my place. I meant to call you last night and forgot. I’m sorry, that was really stupid of me.”

Neal bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees, relieved. “I was so scared,” he admitted.

“God, I’m sorry, Neal.” She could kick herself for being so thoughtless; of course Neal would have gone to the rehab center first thing, as usual, and he must have been frantic.

“What’s he doing at your place anyway?”

“I went over to see him after work and found him packing his stuff, so I convinced him to come to my place. I thought he’d be safe there.”

“Well, you could’ve said _something_ , Diana, God!”

“I said I was sorry,” she said, suddenly feeling defensive. “Anyway, why didn’t he call you? You’re his best friend.”

“We had an argument. He doesn’t want us going after Larssen.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that. Peter expects a warrant any minute. And maybe it’s not such a bad idea for Mozzie to lay low for a while. It’d be in his best interests.”

Neal gave her a look. “He doesn’t need _you_ to be looking after his best interests,” Neal bit out, and immediately regretted it.

“Oh, is that what this is about? Territory?”

Neal put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, took a deep breath. “No. But he’s not acting right lately. He’s not himself.”

“So you keep saying. But maybe he’s got a right to change. Maybe this life isn’t for him anymore.”

“What would you know about it? How can you pretend to know anything about either of us?”

“Oh, so it’s just you and Mozzie against the world is it? And what happens when he no longer wants in on that gig?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Peter said, striding up to the both of them. “Keep your voices down. What is going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” Diana replied, staring daggers at Neal. “Just a difference of opinion about how our friend should live his life.”

“She wants to turn him into something he’s not!” Neal accused.

“Well at least I’ve got his safety in mind!”

“That is _so_ unfair!”

“Hold on a minute, just a minute. Who are we talking about here?”

“Mozzie!” they answered Peter in unison.

He looked at them as if they’d each sprouted an extra head. “Let me get this straight – are you two fighting over who gets custody of Moz?”

“What? No!” Diana said defensively.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Neal said over her.

“I’ll remind you both he’s a grown man who can make his own life choices. Cut it out. Now, the warrant for Julian Larssen just came down. We’re moving out in fifteen. Get in the game.” Peter walked away.

Neal and Diana looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, both embarrassed by their behavior, and equally embarrassed to have been schooled by Peter. Neal ducked his head sheepishly and apologized.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” she replied.

“Is he behaving himself?”

“Christie loves him. She might ask him to move in.”

“I suggest you not allow that to happen. He’ll drink all your liquor.”

\----

Diana arrived home late to find Mozzie and Christie ensconced on the couch watching Dancing with the Stars. Moz had Christie’s left foot in his lap and was administering a massage, a pretty good one if the low moans coming from her throat were any indication. Diana dropped her bag by the bedroom door, kicked off her shoes and kissed her girlfriend hello.

“How was your day?” Christie asked.

Diana rolled her eyes, an angry expression on her face, and headed to the kitchen for a beer. She headed back to the couch and then her mobile phone rang. She picked it up, looked at the display and answered. “Hey, Boss,” she said. She wandered back to the bedroom as she spoke, but Moz and Christie could hear snippets of the conversation, enough to learn that something had gone wrong that day, something serious. They were on the edge of the couch when she returned, looking at her expectantly.

“Something happened,” Moz stated rather than asked.

Diana nodded and sat down. She related to them as much as she could, from Larssen’s arrest to the fingerprint found inside the gun being identified as Peter’s. She did not share the detail about Larssen breaking into the FBI, merely that she and Jones had found proof that Peter’s pc has been tampered with. She finished by sharing that Peter had called to tell her about the lead on Frederick Bilal, and that he and Neal were going to check it out in the morning.

“So he’s, um, Larssen’s still free,” Moz said quietly.

Diana squeezed his knee, her hand lingering and he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mozzie.” He nodded, ducked his head. She noticed a pad of vellum sitting on the coffee table, with equations and a strange pattern drawn on it and crossed out several times. She picked it up and studied it. “What’s this?”

“It’s what was in the music box,” he said, his voice quiet. He was more affected by the news about Larssen than she’d thought he’d be. “The notes represented an equation, and the equation represents that.”

“What is it?”

“A fractal.” Moz explained what it was to them, and that he couldn’t really draw it freehand, even though he tried. “The hands aren’t as steady these days,” he said with a rueful smile.

“But what’s it for?” Christie asked. She traced the lines of his last attempt with her forefinger.

“Lots of things, actually, but this one in particular, I’m not sure. I’d need to look into it a bit more.”

 “What do you need?” Diana asked.

\----

Moz fairly jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door of Diana’s and Christie’s apartment the next afternoon. “Just a minute!” he called, rising and grabbing the walker that the rehab center had let him borrow. God, if anyone who really _knew_ him could see him now, he’d die a death. “Who is it?” he said at the door when he’d finally – finally – hobbled over.

“It’s Elizabeth!”

She came bearing the bendy straws and gluten-free brownies he’d requested, and a bottle of Argentinean Malbec he did not. “You know me so well,” he said happily.

She gave him a hug and they settled in on the couch. “So…bendy straws?”

“I’m testing a theory. Tell me what is going on with Peter. Is everything OK?”

She began to pick at her cuticles. “It’s really serious. But I know you’re out of all of it, I’m going to respect that. They’ve got it all under control. I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you,” he said, taken aback but covering. He didn’t think she sounded convinced.

“So tell me what your plans are for retirement.”

They discussed hobbies he might take up – El told him how much her mother enjoyed something she called “scrapbooking” – as well as tax deferred IRAs. Throughout the conversation, Elizabeth’s phone kept chiming in as she got email after email. She glanced at them from time to time, but didn’t respond. “Aren’t you going to answer them?” Moz finally asked.

“No, honey, it’s out of my hands.  Neal’s helping Peter put together a crew to run a sting on this Prince Bilal person.”

“Really?” Moz tried unsuccessfully to act disinterested.

“Yeah. Sara Ellis is lending them her voice modulation software to fool him into…something. I’m unclear on that point. It sounds complicated.”

“Well, the software’s not going to work if they use the stuff that’s cleared for use in this country – it’s not reliable. Do you know whether they’re using the European or the American technology?”

Elizabeth gave him a helpless look and shook her head.

“I hope they know that they’ll be limited in the number of words that will work – the algorithm is pretty rudimentary, even in the most recent versions.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure Sara knows what she’s doing. She does this all the time, right?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

She furrowed her brow, concern clouding her features. “Oh.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, Elizabeth staring at her hands and Moz staring at her.

“Shall I make us some coffee?” she finally said.

Elizabeth busied herself in the kitchen, leaving Moz to stew in the living room. He didn’t like this one little bit. Whatever was going on, he was sure Neal had it all in hand. But what if he didn’t? Sometimes, Neal failed to plan for contingencies, didn’t run through a plan enough times to spot the errors. This one was too important to all of them. What if…what if…they went on without him?

“Here we are,” Elizabeth sang as she brought in a couple of steaming mugs of fresh coffee.

“When’s the meeting tonight?” Moz asked, trying to sound disinterested.

\----

The next morning, Diana woke early. A light sleeper to begin with, she always slept fitfully on nights before important events. She padded towards the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, and found Mozzie already up, dressed and waiting. He sat in a chair he’d dragged over to the windows, staring out over the city as the sun rose.

“Up already?” she asked, going to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Never went to sleep,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Coffee?” she offered, and went into the kitchen. She soon brought him a steaming mug – black with one sugar – and sat across from him at the dining table and sipped.

“How do you do this every day?” he asked after several minutes, his voice subdued.

“Do what?”

He looked her in the eyes, considering his next words carefully. “Your job, I guess. Stare down the barrel of a gun pointed at you on a regular basis.”

“Well, it’s not as regular as you think. Most of my job’s surveillance and research. But when I _am_ in a situation, I remind myself that I swore an oath to preserve and defend, and that without me, innocent people get hurt, or worse. Also, I get to kick a little ass now and then.” She smiled.

 “I think I understand. But I don’t think I could do it.”

“No? There really is surprisingly little danger involved for a large part of the agency, you know. In case you’re interested.”

He smiled and stared into his cup. “You keep implying I’d be well-suited for that, and while I appreciate the sentiment, it really is not for me. Conspiracy theories aside, I’m not sure what I’m destined for, but it isn’t working for the Feds. I’m just not wired to be good.”

 “Everyone can be good. I mean, they have the capacity for it.”

“But not everyone’s seen what I’ve seen. Done what I’ve done.”

Her eyes, he noticed, were impossibly large, and the familiar pang he got from being with her twisted itself up into a knot in his belly.

“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this job, good and bad are relative terms,” she replied. “Good people do bad things. Bad things lead to good outcomes. Like this sting today – not technically the most legal activity in my week, but if it gets Peter his job back, restores a man’s honor, then I’m willing to make allowances.”

“The ends justify the means?” he asked.

“Don’t they have to sometimes?”

“I wonder if that’s a healthy outlook for a young Federal agent,” he prompted.

She blinked.

“A philosophical conversation we’ll have to schedule for another day, then.”

She sighed. “I sure do seem to be working within a lot of grey areas since meeting you and Caffrey.”

“And how do you like grey?”

“It goes well with my skin tone. More coffee?”

\----

Later that morning, Moz asked Jones to drop him off at June’s after his role in the operation with Bilal was completed. While he’d been scared nearly witless in the hours leading up to the sting, he found he felt that familiar old thrill while he was in the midst of it. The allure of the con, the excitement of a job well-planned and well-run, had him feeling a bit more like his old self. He wasn’t quite sure if he should feel as relieved by that as he did, and filed it under “to be thought about later,” along with his feelings for Diana and his real opinions about Neal’s position with the FBI.

He had a light lunch with June on Neal’s terrace and she left him to his latest project, modeling the fractal represented by the equation using the straws that Elizabeth had brought for him. He wheeled himself over to Neal’s table and got to work, and before he knew it, three hours had passed. His cell rang and he looked at the display – it was Neal.

“Hey, Moz, we got Larssen,” he said, a proud, happy edge to his voice.

Mozzie’s relief was palpable. “Excellent. I will see your accomplishment and raise you one – I built our equation.”

“And?”

“You need to come see this for yourself.”

“I’ll be home in twenty. Hey listen, Moz?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry we argued the other day. I know I sometimes go off half-cocked.”

“Sometimes?”

“Heh – yeah. But I don’t ever want to make you feel like that, like I’m forcing you into anything. You’re my best friend and I…I think I sometimes forget to tell you how much I appreciate all you do for me.”

Moz couldn’t help but get a bit choked up. Despite it all – and Neal was right, he did tend to take things for granted – he loved the kid like a brother and he knew Neal would never fail to have his best interests in mind. He cleared his throat. “Shut up. And get your ass over here soon. You’ve really got to see this.”

 


End file.
